As of 8 a.m. this morning the movie is wrapped. And we have all been released back into society to fend for ourselves. I feel like we’re on that show “The 4400”. Have you seen that show? It’s about 4400 people who were abducted by aliens over the years and then they are all returned at the same time on a lake. Or something.
We are like “The 120”. The door to the stage opened this morning, allowing the sun to seep into the dark room. As our eyes and our bodies adjusted to the new surroundings we slowly became acclimated with the real world. Snippets of news stories trickled in – Spurs, Aruba, Tom Cruise…
All of us reacted to our freedom differently. Some were in their cars before the last syllable of “That’s a wrap!” was yelled. Some began to cry. Some began to drink. Some were still napping in the corner. I was busy eating Oreos at the catering table. “Huh? What? We wrapped 20 minutes ago? Okay, let me fish this last cookie out of my milk.”
The saddest part of the wrap was that it put an end to our low-energy game of tag we had started two hours earlier. Going into our 15th hour of the day someone came up to me, touched my arm and said, “You’re it.” I looked at them, then hit the person next to me, “You’re it.” So began the slowest game of tag in the history of the planet. Two hours later it had made its way across the room – without anyone ever actually getting up.
You’d think we’d have more energy, considering the amount of Coke and candy bars we’d eaten over the course of 15 hours.
But no. Turns out we were saving it for, “That’s a wrap!” Cause at that point everyone jumped up as though being shot out of some sort of cannon. Maybe it was the crisp morning air, or the champagne, or the crazy extra running around with an ax. But whatever it was it made for a brief spurt of excitement from a long comatose crew.
And through the tears and hugs and alcohol we all said goodbye to each other and to the film and to our brief (but kind of long) time together.
And I stashed a box of Oreos in my backpack.
We are like “The 120”. The door to the stage opened this morning, allowing the sun to seep into the dark room. As our eyes and our bodies adjusted to the new surroundings we slowly became acclimated with the real world. Snippets of news stories trickled in – Spurs, Aruba, Tom Cruise…
All of us reacted to our freedom differently. Some were in their cars before the last syllable of “That’s a wrap!” was yelled. Some began to cry. Some began to drink. Some were still napping in the corner. I was busy eating Oreos at the catering table. “Huh? What? We wrapped 20 minutes ago? Okay, let me fish this last cookie out of my milk.”
The saddest part of the wrap was that it put an end to our low-energy game of tag we had started two hours earlier. Going into our 15th hour of the day someone came up to me, touched my arm and said, “You’re it.” I looked at them, then hit the person next to me, “You’re it.” So began the slowest game of tag in the history of the planet. Two hours later it had made its way across the room – without anyone ever actually getting up.
You’d think we’d have more energy, considering the amount of Coke and candy bars we’d eaten over the course of 15 hours.
But no. Turns out we were saving it for, “That’s a wrap!” Cause at that point everyone jumped up as though being shot out of some sort of cannon. Maybe it was the crisp morning air, or the champagne, or the crazy extra running around with an ax. But whatever it was it made for a brief spurt of excitement from a long comatose crew.
And through the tears and hugs and alcohol we all said goodbye to each other and to the film and to our brief (but kind of long) time together.
And I stashed a box of Oreos in my backpack.
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